


Duello

by caldefrance



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carriage Sex, Drinking, Duelling, Enemies to Lovers, Gambling, Georgian Period, Historical, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Napoleonic Wars, Short Story, Smoking, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caldefrance/pseuds/caldefrance
Summary: Mr. Joseph Jones agreed to meet Capt. Nicolas Smith for a personal interview in Hyde Park, armed with two pistols and a friend.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 137





	Duello

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine that Joe and Nicky didn't meet fighting in the crusades, but as opponents fighting a duel over some perceived slight to their honour.
> 
> _For my writing partner, Felix, who always encourages me to write both versions of every story._

{image description: two rows of sapling trees stand out against a fog, planted in a well-maintained lawn to either side of a crushed gravel path, overlaid by the following text. Sir, Having had a full and honourable acquittal of the charge you brought against me, I desire you will give me personal satisfaction, and meet me with a friend and two brace of pistols and a sword, at the Ring, in Hyde Park.}

* * *

“I've been called out.”

Joseph Jones needed help and had asked his closest friend to meet him at one of their regular haunts, a public house on the banks of the Thames.

Sébastien Le Livre was an alcoholic and a deserter, but he was a straight shooter when he wasn't in his cups.

“ _Pardon_?”

“I've been challenged to a duel.”

“You’ve been challenged to a duel,” Sébastien repeated the words, incredulous.

“Please keep your voice down!” Joseph hushed him, shifting to look around and see if they’d attracted the attention of any of the other patrons.

Though many gentlemen sought to resolve their differences by duelling—pre-arranged contests in which opponents used deadly weapons to settle questions of honour—the practise was illegal in Britain. If they were found out, they could be charged with murder or forced into exile because of the resulting scandal.

The din of conversation and clinking mugs carried on around them without interruption.

“You know,” Sebastian said then, giving Joseph a sly grin, “if we weren't so well acquainted I’d ask if you bedded his sister.”

Joseph pulled a face. He was a confirmed bachelor, with no interest in the other sex, and they both knew it. Instead of rising to his friend’s bait, he dug into his coat pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper and handed it to the other man. “Just read the note that was delivered to my rooms this morning.”

Joseph had already memorized the language of the missive, after he’d read the message three times before he understood its meaning.

> _Sir,_
> 
> _Having had a full and honourable acquittal of the charge you brought against me, I desire you will give me personal satisfaction, and meet me with a friend and two brace of pistols and a sword, at the Ring, in Hyde Park._
> 
> _Your injured servant,_
> 
> _Captain Nico. Smith_

Sebastian’s frown didn’t ease as he muttered the damning words to himself.

Captain Smith, a man that Joseph had never laid eyes on, had accused him of besmirching his good name and demanded satisfaction for the slight to his honour.

Captain Smith, it was said, had such an appetite for prize-money he’d seize even neutral ships. The navy captain had pursued a Spanish convoy conveying gold bullion until the _Santa Clara_ , the frigate carrying the treasure, struck her colours to _Bellona_. The Admiralty Court had ruled against _Bellona_ ’s captain, since the Spanish had not yet entered Britain’s war with France, and his king’s ransom in prize-money had reverted to the Crown. Captain Smith had only avoided a court-martial for his actions when the Consul in Cadiz, Sir James Duff, argued that the Spanish would have declared war had the treasure arrived safely. While the captain’s actions may have deferred Spain's declaration of war, the _on dit_ on the matter was not to his credit.

Joseph, for his part, had been drunk on the heady rush of his own good fortune when he’d repeated that rumour.

He’d spent the evening smoking and gambling at his club, which he’d recently been invited to join following the exhibition of one of his paintings at the Royal Academy. He’d tried his hand at history painting, a genre that was only growing in popularity since Britain was at war with France. His success had secured him an invitation to the insular spaces of the British establishment where he could seek favours and patrons. He’d found that gambling more often than not afforded him—the dark-complexioned son of a foreign family—the social capital he needed to make advantageous connections.

Joseph remembered taking a long draw of his cigar, savouring the thick taste of it, before declaring the set of winning cards he held in his hand.

“Not good,” he said, tapping the end of his cigar against a crystal ash tray a servant had placed on the baize-covered table. “ _Quatorze._ ”

Joseph had handily carried this last hand of _piquet_ , with fourty-four points, after declaring two _quarts_ before his opponent declared any points gained him a _pique_ before he'd even scored this _quatorze_.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” His opponent, a baronet hailing from Herefordshire, conceded the hand.

Joseph collected their cards with a giddy smile while Sir George tallied the points from the _partie_ —announcing a score of 99:120—and writing up a promissory note for a debt of £319.

A man wearing the club's required attire—a black tailcoat, white waistcoat, and black pantaloons—gave a sharp whistle.

Another spectator with a cut-glass accent shouted, “That’s a fine prize, Jones!”

Sir George handed Joseph the promissory note across the baize-covered table with polite congratulations. “Well played, sir.”

“It was all above board,” Joseph said, his broad shoulders tensing against the fabric of his dark blue tailcoat. He felt as though he needed to defend himself. “I’m no Captain Smith!”

An uncomfortable silence passed through the smoke-darkened room following these words, as they’d been spoken at some volume.

Joseph hadn't intended to turn a friendly game of cards into a forum on Britain's war with France, and decided to take his leave before anyone could call him out for his characterization of one naval officer's actions.

“Cheers, gentlemen.” Joseph pocketed the promissory note and snuffed his cigar in the ashtray before rising to his feet and giving a slight bow to all the room before leaving with a parting shout of ‘Rule, Britannia!’

Sébastien gave a hearty laugh at the retelling. “Rule, Britannia!” he shouted, thumping his fist against a scarred oak table.

Joseph gave the exiled Frenchman a raised eyebrow, but refrained from passing comment and redirecting the conversation.

“How will you answer this challenge, _mon ami_?” Sébastien asked, his expression turning serious.

“I already have.”

Joseph could have drawn out the whole affair with lawyerly negotiations over the conditions for an apology, but he’d decided to give the messenger a simple reply.

Sébastien gestured wordlessly for Joseph to tell him what he'd answered.

“I accepted.”

Joseph couldn’t be certain his career as an artist could have weathered the blow to his reputation, if word ever got out that he’d spoken publicly against the war and then refused a challenge like a coward.

“Ah,” Sébastien said simply, shifting in his seat.

“Yes. If you’re concerned there may be a scandal—”

“Of course I’ll second you.”

“I hadn’t yet asked—”

“Who were you planning to ask?”

“You?”

In truth, Joseph knew no one with military experience who might assist him besides Sébastien.

“Well. That’s that settled then. I need another drink. You?”

“None for me.”

Sébastien made an inarticulate sound at that that might’ve been French and signalled for another round.

Joseph didn’t ever drink, and oftentimes wished Sébastien wouldn’t drink so much, but he’d keep company with his friend despite the smell of stale ale that pervaded the Prospect of Whitby.

Joseph reflected that a different man might have compromised his principles at the prospect of his own ruin, but he would remain steadfast. He needed a clear head to put his affairs in order ahead of his personal interview with the navy captain.

* * *

The next day came early when Joseph and Sébastien hired a coach to convey them to Hyde Park, the location Captain Smith had mentioned in his challenge.

Joseph had entrusted Sébastien with a fresh copy of his will and a letter for his mother, in case he would not live long enough to write another. Sébastien had leant Joseph his duelling pistols, two long-barrelled guns with smooth mother of pearl handles stored in a wooden box.

Joseph ran his hands over the edges of the box, studying the grain of the wood, to keep from thinking about the challenge he faced.

Sébastien was carrying on a conversation well enough by himself.

“I imagine that Captain Smith, though I don’t know the man from Adam, will agree to the standard rules.”

“Right.”

“He’ll have brought a second, and I’ll parley with him, to be sure.”

“Hm.”

“The standard distance with pistols is shooting at eight paces, but I’ll ask for twelve.”

“Hm.”

“He shouldn’t have any reason to object to shooting at twelve paces.”

“Hm.”

“He’ll also have hired a _chirurgien_ , in case either of you sustains an injury.”

“Hm.”

“Are you even listening?”

“Hm? Good.”

“Never mind, then. _Tout ira bien_.”

Joseph wasn't as sure as Sébastien that everything would be fine.

Sébastien gave Joseph a friendly pat on his knee and lapsed into silence until the carriage stopped moving.

They stepped from the carriage and left the gravelled carriage track after paying the coachman to wait and walked with muted footsteps across the grass towards the meeting place.

Hyde park was covered in a thick blanketing fog that morning and, as they walked, Joseph fancied the massive trees were architectural pillars holding up the weight of the air’s brumish vault. Sébastien grumbled that the weather would dampen their gunpowder.

Joseph and Sébastien encountered no one else until they found Captain Smith, his second, and the surgeon.

Joseph was able to identify Captain Smith easily enough. The man had chosen to wear his navy uniform, an outfit made up of a dark blue tricorn hat and coat with a lustrous gold trim and gilded buttons worn over stark white linens and doeskin britches. The cut and colour flattered his slight figure and made him look imposing from a distance.

The sight of Captain Smith in his dress uniform made Joseph feel a little underdressed for the occasion. He himself had chosen to wear half dress—cream-coloured britches with a chequered waistcoat and green wool frock coat, which was suitable enough to wear outdoors but didn't look advantageous compared to the formal cut of a uniform. He regretted that he hadn’t thought to wear his best clothes that morning.

Joseph could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes, however, when he identified one of the figures as a woman dressed in men’s clothes. Since he’d never heard of the Royal College of Surgeons accepting a woman-surgeon, he could only assume she’d been asked to attend the meeting as his opponent’s second. He wondered unkindly whether the navy captain had no gentleman in his acquaintance who could act as his second.

“Your navy captain has some nerve to bring a woman into our business,” Sébastien grumbled.

Joseph quietly wondered when Captain Smith had become his navy captain.

“Sébastien, _mon ami_ , you are wearing his enemy’s uniform.”

“ _C’est pas faux_.” Sébastien shrugged, taking his point. He’d chosen to wear his French military uniform that morning, which had caused them some grief when they'd tried to hire a coach.

Sébastien left Joseph standing by himself while the seconds conferred and settled the terms of the engagement, so he focused his attention again on the navy captain.

Captain Smith’s features weren’t well-proportioned, Joseph decided. His straight nose was too large for his face. His clear eyes lacked any colour or fascination. His straight brown hair looked unfashionable, given that he wore it without any powder beneath his tricorn hat. Joseph didn’t find Captain Smith at all handsome beneath his uniform, and yet he couldn’t keep from staring at him.

Captain Smith’s attention, unlike Joseph’s, was entirely focused on the parley between the seconds. Joseph’s second was beating the edge of one hand against his other palm in a gesture meant to emphasize his point, while the navy captain’s second had crossed her arms and was shaking her head minutely. The appropriate number of paces at which two men might fire loaded pistols at each other appeared to be in dispute.

Captain Smith quietly blasphemed and rubbed his hands together, drawing Joseph’s attention back to him. Joseph could see the man’s cheeks were flushed in the crisp morning air. He found that a bit of colour livened the navy captain’s forbidding expression considerably.

Joseph decided then that he would have liked to ask the man to sit for a portrait. He almost immediately quashed that thought, however, reminding himself that the man had asked to meet him solely for the honour of shooting at him.

Joseph shivered with apprehension when Captain Smith caught him staring and gave him a murderous look.

Joseph forced himself to focus all his attention on the seconds until they had broken off their conference by then to report back to their principals.

Sébastien was explaining to Joseph what they’d discussed, but he wasn't paying it any attention. He couldn’t help but stare surreptitiously as the woman with long brown hair spoke with the navy captain. They seemed friendly enough to him, but they did not try and close the physical distance between them as they conversed. Joseph felt reasonably sure that Captain Smith hadn’t brought his mistress to the duel.

“ _C’est bon_ ,” Sébastien was saying to Joseph. “We’ve agreed you’ll fire at twelve paces. If one or the other of the pistols misfires, you’ll fire with a second pistol.”

“Two shots?” Joseph asked, for confirmation.

“ _Oui_.”

Sébastien handed Joseph the first of the two loaded pistols and a moment of silence passed between them then, as they both contemplated what might happen next.

Joseph gravely considered the possibility that he may well need to stand in the firing line not once, but twice, to defend his reputation.

“Merde!” Sébastien said to Joseph then, clapping him on the shoulder with a firm hand. When his friend gave him a confused look, he explained. “Good luck.”

Joseph nodded his thanks, before taking a fortifying breath and marching off to face this challenge.

The two men stood back to back only for a brief moment before taking twelve paces, turning on their heels, and firing their pistols.

The crack of a single gunshot pierced the air.

Joseph had raised his weapon over his head and fired. He’d had no desire to kill a man he’d never met before and had fired straight into the air.

Joseph saw, once the smoke cleared, that Captain Smith was still holding the gun that had misfired aloft and it was aimed straight at him. He felt something twist in his gut as he stared into the barrel’s aperture and he realized this man wanted to kill him.

Joseph was overcome then with a bloodless anger and was glad to exchange his spent pistol for a loaded weapon. His hand shook as he gripped the duelling pistol, sighting down its barrel. He, too, would aim true when he fired his next shot. He was going to kill the man who’d tried to kill him.

Joseph counted twelve steps before turning again and aiming his pistol straight at the navy captain even as the other man had him in his sights.

The sound of two gunshots echoed through Hyde Park, followed by a deafening silence since the shots and stress had scared away all the birds.

Joseph looked down at himself with trepidation, but quickly breathed a sigh of relief when he couldn’t find a hit on his person.

The navy captain was still standing, too, looking hale and whole.

They’d both missed the other. Their shots had fired wide.

Joseph felt his diaphragm spasm and his breath hitched and he gave a cry expressing his relief.

They’d tried to kill each other, but they weren’t able to.

Joseph tossed his weapon aside and ran his hands over his face, overwhelmed by an intense rush of feeling.

They’d fired deadly weapons at each other because a sense of honour had demanded it, but they didn’t have to.

Joseph brushed aside all his misplaced concern for his reputation and really looked at Nicolas Smith. When he did, all he saw there were his own emotions reflected on the other man’s face.

How wondrous, Joseph thought, was it to feel such a connection after they’d tried to settle their differences by killing each other.

“ _Deo gratias_ ,” he heard the other man say.

“You’re a _Papist_?” Joseph asked, incredulous that a Catholic had been granted a commission in the navy, before shaking his head to clear it as he moved to close the distance between them. “Not that it matters. None of it matters.”

“We could have died,” Nicolas was saying, speaking to Joseph for the first time, “but we didn’t.”

They might have shaken hands or embraced each other next if squawking voices hadn’t shouted out from the fog, interrupting them.

“Who goes there?”

“I heard shots!”

“ _Merde_!”

“Soldiers!”

“Seize them!”

“Christ in heaven!”

“ _Blákas_.”

“Run!”

“Take my hand!”

Joseph and Nicolas each grabbed the other’s hand, pulling the other along, and ran straight across the green.

* * *

Nicolas handed Joseph up into a waiting carriage at Grosvener Gate before climbing in himself and pulling the door shut behind them.

They were now safely ensconced in a hired carriage that would carry them beyond the reach of their pursuers as it pulled away. They were also alone for the first time since they’d met.

Nicolas and Joseph were both breathing hard from their race across the green. Their eyes met and something—a shared irrepressible feeling—passed between them.

They were so fortunate.

They might have died, or been arrested, and yet here they were sharing a carriage together.

Taking advantage of the situation, Joseph stared freely at Nicolas—at his colourless eyes, his flushed skin, his hair darkened with sweat, his chapped lips. Joseph studied Nicolas with a singular intensity, as though he were trying to commit the man’s features to memory so he might sketch them later when they’d parted. He thought the morning’s adventure had made the lordly navy officer he’d met look more like a dashing rogue.

Joseph had an admitted weakness for roguish men. He’d let them take him to bed and then pine away when they inevitably threw him over for a molly or a mistress. He knew he wouldn’t refuse this man if he were to proposition him now. He sorely wished to reach out and touch him, but he hesitated, not knowing how his touch might be received.

Nicolas closed the distance between them first, moving to share the forward-facing leather _banquette_ with Joseph, and reached out to grasp his coat lapels and pull him into a searing kiss.

Joseph didn’t hesitate to return his embrace, taking the other man’s face in his hands, and then they were kissing each other.

They embraced each other, reciprocating every touch, nudge, and caress in kind. They paused only for breath and, when they did, they let their hands wander to feel each other’s bodies through their clothing.

“Hot,” Nicolas murmured, releasing Joseph’s lapels to tug at the stock wound tightly around his throat.

Joseph, who’d shrugged out of his heavy wool frock coat and tossed it aside, hardly waited until Nicolas had unwound the band of white linen to nuzzle at his bared neck. The gold brocade of the navy officer’s coat scratched against his cheek, and he felt weak with want for him.

“My dear sir,” Nicolas said then, leaning into Joseph’s embrace, “I am afraid I must insist you remove at least some of your clothes. I find the fashion for wearing two waistcoats a wholly impractical affectation.”

Joseph didn’t protest as Nicolas divested him of both his waistcoats and tugged at his shirt, freeing the material from his britches so he might run his hands over his hairy chest.

Joseph tried to do the same just as the carriage took a turn in the road, making him lose his balance, and promptly fell into Nicolas’s lap.

“Oh!” Joseph gasped, as all the air rushed from his lungs.

“Steady!”

Joseph’s heart raced in his chest as he realized he could feel the unmistakeable stiffness of the other man’s prick through his doeskin britches.

Joseph attempted to mask his nervousness at having accidentally initiated such an intimate touch with a new partner with a bit of humour. “When you wrote to me and asked me to bring my sword, I did not realize that this was what you had in mind!”

Nicolas didn’t laugh at that, though he blushed in a way that Joseph found endearing. He shifted in his seat.

“Would you mind—”

“Not at all.”

They broke apart, restoring as much space as they could between them in the close confines of the moving carriage.

“I don’t suppose—”

“Do you think—”

“Please, go ahead,” Nicolas said, bidding Joseph to speak first.

“We hardly know each other.” Joseph paused. “What I mean to say is—I feel as though there’s something—”

Nicolas decided to speak when it became clear that Joseph couldn’t find the words he wanted to express himself. “I feel the same as you.”

“You do?”

Nicolas gave Joseph a gentle smile, the first he’d ever seen the man give. “When I saw you standing there after the smoke cleared—looking so terrified and relieved and alive and wonderful—my first thought was that I’d received a blessing. I didn’t think it was a blessing to have survived the duello. No, I thought, ‘Thank God, Nico, because you are blessed to have found this man.’”

“Nico,” Joseph whispered, feeling flustered, as he was struck by the emotional force of his confession.

“May I call you Joseph?”

“Do—please do,” Joseph said, laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation.

“May I kiss you, Joseph?”

“Please.”

Nicolas kissed Joseph, gently at first, then with rapturous enthusiasm.

Joseph broke their kiss first, with a gasp. “Nico,” Joseph begged, “please take me.”

“Here? Now?” Nicolas asked, surprised.

“Here and now,” Joseph answered, more than certain that that was what he wanted.

Joseph wanted Nicolas to have his way with him, and he refused to wait any longer.

“May I ask if you’ve done this before?” Nicolas asked, softly.

“I can take it. Though I’ve never done it in a moving carriage,” Joseph confessed, giving Nicolas a cheeky smile that made small crinkles appear around his eyes.

“Neither have I.”

Nicolas and Joseph were both grinning at each other now.

They kissed again, knocking their noses together as they each tried to unbutton their britches.

“How do you want me?” Joseph asked, realizing the close quarters of the carriage would require some coordination.

“Turn about,” Nicolas said, in the same firm tone of voice that Joseph imagined he used to order naval manoeuvres.

Joseph did as he was bid, reaching out to steady himself as Nicolas breached him with a slicked finger. His breath hitched as another finger joined the first and he felt himself stretch around the digits. He watched condensation grow on the carriage window as he breathed hotly against it.

Joseph gasped when Nicolas removed his fingers and breached him with his stiff cock. He scrambled to adjust his position and one of his hands left streaks in the condensation fogging up the window glass.

“My God!” cried Nicolas.

Joseph gave a wordless groan and leaned into the sensation, resting his cheek against the carriage's shuddering wooden frame, until the other man stopped moving. “I swear,” Joseph growled, “if you do not start again, I shall say that you are cruel!”

Nicolas then reached around him, wrapping his hand around his own stiff member, and Joseph lost all capacity for speech.

“Ah!”

They rocked together, groaning, as Nicolas fucked Joseph until they both collapsed bonelessly.

“I dare say you’ve succeeded in killing me,” Joseph teased, after Nicolas had pulled out. “I should hope you’re satisfied now.”

When Nicolas failed to give him an answer, Joseph’s concern drove him to pull his britches back up and turn to face him.

“I did not mean to offend you,” Joseph said first.

“I am sensible of your kindness,” Nicolas said, busying himself with restoring his own appearance. “It is my own actions that were regrettable. I am truly sorry for—”

“Whatever for?” Joseph asked, interrupting him. “I dare say we’ve settled our differences,” he said, referring to the fact that they’d both fought and fucked each other that morning.

Joseph’s outburst had stunned Nicolas into silence, so he reached for the man’s hand and squeezed it until he felt a squeeze in return.

The carriage continued to navigate London's streets with a clatter of hooves and grinding wheels, and they could hear the sounds of tradesmen and teamsters carrying out their day's business.

“What now?” Joseph asked.

Nicolas frowned. “I am afraid those damned soldiers may have seen us. I think it would be prudent to quit London for a while and avoid a scandal.”

Joseph thought the idea was a sensible one. “I could afford to travel the Continent for a few weeks. But what of your own obligations?”

“To the navy?” Nicolas shifted in his seat, avoiding Joseph’s gaze. “I resigned my command of the _Bellona_ when the Admiralty ruled against me and called for my court-martial. I’ve yet to receive another commission since my acquittal.”

Joseph thought these events certainly explained why Nicolas would challenge someone he’d never met to a duel over an unfavourable public comment. “I see.”

Joseph watched as Nicolas stared steadfastly out the window, avoiding his gaze, so he moved to kneel before him in the footwell.

“Leave with me,” Joseph proposed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come and travel the Continent with me. We could see Portugal, Italy, or even Malta…” Joseph was certain he’d never wanted something so much as he said those words. “Wherever you want to go, we could go.”

Nicolas looked as though he didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t think about it,” Joseph pleaded. “Just say yes.”

Nicolas said nothing for the longest time, worrying his lip between his teeth, torn between what he felt was his duty and his desire.

Joseph’s felt his heart squeeze in his chest and looked away. He’d not considered the possibility he’d be refused. He was certain he would be devastated by the rejection.

He should have known that one man couldn’t hope to compete with King and Country.

“Yes,” Nicolas said, giving his answer at last, to Joseph's surprise. “I’ll come with you.”

Joseph felt such relief at hearing the words, the way he imagined one felt when another person agreed to wed, and he rose to plant a firm kiss on his mouth to seal their understanding.

Joseph then took his seat beside Nicolas again, feeling giddy, and pressed another chaste kiss to their clasped hands which still smelled of gunpowder.

Knocking twice on the roof of the carriage, they directed the coachman to convey them immediately to the Kentish coast, where they could arrange to have their trunks delivered and board a southbound ship.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, consider leaving a little note! Your excitement gives me the excitement I need to finish and publish my next story.
> 
> If you’re not sure what to say, that’s okay! ❤ are _great_. If you really enjoyed a particular line, you can let me know by copying it into the body of your comment. [I enjoy turning some of these lines into illustrations when I’m between projects.](https://caldefrance.tumblr.com/tagged/quote/) I also take reader requests! If there’s a small moment or an exchange between these characters that you would like to have seen, I might write a little fill for you and post it as bonus material in the comments. I may take a few days to answer, if I’m writing, but I try to respond to comments within a week.
> 
> You can also check out cover art and other visuals related to this story [here](https://caldefrance.tumblr.com/tagged/duello-story/chrono/). I post cover art, visual inspiration, and teasers for my published stories and upcoming projects on tumblr, @[caldefrance](https://caldefrance.tumblr.com/).


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